by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER XXIII. CAUGHT!
After two nights and a day of torment unbearable, Kent bolted from hiswork, which would have taken him that day, as it had done the day before,in a direction opposite to that which his mind and his heart followed, andwithout apology or explanation to his foreman rode straight to Cold SpringCoulee. He had no very definite plan, except to see Val. He did not evenknow what he would say when he faced her.
Michael was steaming from nose to tail when he stopped at the yard gate,which shows how impatience had driven his master. Kent glanced quicklyaround the place as he walked up the narrow path to the house. Nothingwas changed in the slightest particular, as far as he could see, and herealized then that he had been uneasy as well as anxious. Both doors wereclosed, so that he was obliged to knock before Val became visible. He had afleeting impression of extreme caution in the way she opened the door andlooked out, but he forgot it immediately in his joy at seeing her.
"Oh, it's you. Come in, and--you won't mind if I close the door? I'm afraidI'm the victim of nerves, to-day."
"Why?" Kent was instantly solicitous. "Has anything happened since I washere?"
Val shook her head, smiling faintly. "Nothing that need to worry _you_,pal. I don't want to talk about worries. I want to be cheered up; I haven'tlaughed, Kent, for so long I'm afraid my facial muscles are getting stiff.Say something funny, can't you?"
Kent pushed his hat far back on his head and sat down upon a corner of thetable. "Such is life in the far West--and the farther West you go, thelivelier--" he began to declaim dutifully.
"The livelier it gets. Yes, I've heard that a million tunes, I believe. Ican't laugh at that; I never did think it funny." She sighed, and twitchedher shoulders impatiently because of it. "I see you brought back theglasses," she remarked inanely. "You certainly weren't in any great hurry,were you?"
"Oh, they had us riding over east of the home ranch, hazing in some outathe hills. I'm supposed to be over there right now--but I ain't. I expectI'll get the can, all right--"
"If you're going away, what do you care?" she taunted.
"H'm--sure, what do I care?" He eyed her from under his brows while he bentto light a match upon the sole of his boot. Val had long ago settled hiscompunctions about smoking in her presence. "You seem to be all tore up,here," he observed irrelevantly. "Cleaning house?"
"Yes--cleaning house." Val smiled ambiguously.
"Hubby in town?"
"Yes--he went in yesterday, and hasn't come back yet."
Kent smoked for a moment meditatively. "I found that calf, all right," heinformed her at last. "It was too late to ride around this way and tell youthat night. So you needn't worry any more about that."
"I'm not worrying about that." Val stooped and picked up a hairpin from thefloor, and twirled it absently in her fingers. "I don't think it matters,any more. Yesterday afternoon Fred De Garmo and Polycarp Jenks came intothe coulee with a bunch of cattle, and turned all the calves out of theriver field with them; and, after a little, they drove the whole lot ofthem away somewhere--over that way." She waved a slim hand to the west."They let out the calves in the corral, too. I saw them from the window,but I didn't ask them any questions. I really didn't need to, did I?" Shegrazed him with a glance. "I thought perhaps you had failed to find thatcalf; I'm glad you did, though--so it wasn't that started them huntingaround here--Polycarp and Fred I mean."
Kent looked at her queerly. Her voice was without any emotion whatever, asif the subject held no personal interest for her. He finished his cigaretteand threw the stub out into the yard before either of them spoke anotherword. He closed the door again, stood there for a minute making up hismind, and went slowly over to where she was sitting listlessly in a chair,her hands folded loosely in her lap. He gripped with one hand the chairbackand stared down at her high-piled, yellow hair.
"How long do you think I'm going to stand around and let you be draggedinto trouble like this?" he began abruptly. "You know what I told you theother day--I could say the same thing over again, and a lot more; and I'dmean more than I could find words for. Maybe you can stand this sortof thing--I can't. I'm not going to try. If you're bound to stick tothat--that gentleman, I'm going to get outa the country where I can't seeyou killed by inches. Every time I come, you're a little bit whiter, and alittle bigger-eyed--I can't stand it, I tell you!
"You weren't made for a hell like you're living. You were meant to behappy--and I was meant to make you happy. Every morning when I open myeyes--do you know what I think? I think it's another day we oughta be happyin, you and me." He took her suddenly by the shoulder and brought her up,facing him, where he could look into her eyes.
"We've only got just one life to live, Val!" he pleaded. "And we could behappy together--I'd stake my life on that. I can't go on forever just beingfriends, and eating my heart out for you, and seeing you abused--and whatfor? Just because a preacher mumbled some words over you two! Only forthat, you wouldn't stay with him over-night, and you know it! Is _that_what ought to tie two human beings together--without love, or evenfriendship? You hate him; you can't look me in the eyes and say you don't.And he's tired of you. Some other woman would please him better. And Icould make you happy!"
Val broke away from his grasp, and retreated until the table was betweenthem. Her listlessness was a thing forgotten. She was panting with thequick beating of her heart.
"Kent--don't, pal! You mustn't say those things--it's wicked."
"It's true," he cried hotly. "Can you look at me and say it ain't thetruth?"
"You've spoiled our friendship, Kent!" she accused, while she evaded hisquestion. "It meant so much to me--just your dear, good friendship."
"My love could mean a whole lot more," he declared sturdily.
"But you mustn't say those things--you mustn't feel that way, Kent!"
"Oh!" He laughed grimly. "Mustn't I? How are you going to stop me?" Hestared hard at her, his face growing slowly rigid. "There's just one way tostop me from saying such wicked things," he told her. "You can tell me youdon't care anything about me, and never could, not even if that down-eastconscience of yours didn't butt into the game. You can tell me that, andswear it's the truth, and I'll leave the country. I'll go so far you'llnewer see me again, so I'll never bother you any more. I can't promise I'llstop loving you--but for my own sake I'll sure try hard enough." He set histeeth hard together and stood quiet, watching her.
Val tied to answer him. Evidently she could not manage her voice, for hesaw her begin softly beating her lips with her fist, fighting to get backher self-control. Once or twice he had seen her do that, when, womanlike,the tears would come in spite of her.
"I don't want you to go a-away," she articulated at last, with a hint ofstubbornness.
"Well, what _do_ you want? I can't stay, unless--" He did not attempt tofinish the sentence. He knew there was no need; she understood well enoughthe alternative.
For long minutes she did not speak, because she could not. Like many women,she fought desperately against the tears which seemed a badge of herfemininity. She sat down in a chair, dropped her face upon her foldedarms, and bit her lips until they were sore. Kent took a step toward her,reconsidered, and went over to the window, where he stood staring moodilyout until she began speaking. Even then, he did not turn immediately towardher.
"You needn't go, Kent," she said with some semblance of calm. "Because I'mgoing. I didn't tell you--but I'm going home. I'm going to get free, bythe same law that tied me to him. You are right--I have a 'down-east'conscience. I think I was born with it. It demands that I get my freedomhonestly; I can't steal it--pal. I couldn't be happy if I did that, nomatter how hard I might try--or you."
He turned eagerly toward her then, but she stopped him with a gesture.
"No--stay where you are. I want to solve my problem and--and leave you outof it; you're a complication, pal--when you talk like--like you've justbeen talking. It makes my conscience wonder whether I'm honest with myself.I've got to leave you out, don
't you see? And so, leaving you out, I don'tfeel that any woman should be expected to go on like I'm doing. You don'tknow--I couldn't tell you just how--impossible--this marriage of mine hasbecome. The day after--well, yesterday--no, the day before yesterday--hecame home and found out--what I'd done. He--I couldn't stay here, afterthat, so--"
"What did he do?" Kent demanded sharply. "He didn't dare to lay his handson you--did he? By--"
"Don't swear, Kent--I hear so much of that from him!" Val smiled curiously."He--he swore at me. I couldn't stay with him, after that--could I, dear?"Whether she really meant to speak that last word or not, it set Kent'sblood dancing so that he forgot to urge his question farther. He took twoeager steps toward her, and she retreated again behind the table.
"Kent, don't! How can I tell you anything, if you won't be good?" Shewaited until he was standing rather sulkily by the window again. "Anyway,it doesn't matter now what he has done. I am going to leave him. I'm goingto get a divorce. Not even the strictest 'down-east' conscience coulddemand that I stay. I'm perfectly at ease upon that point. About this lasttrouble--with the calves--if I could help him, I would, of course. But allI could say would only make matters worse--and I'm a wretched failure atlying. I can help him more, I think, by going away. I feel certain there'sgoing to be trouble over those calves. Fred De Garmo never would have comedown here and driven them all away, would he, unless there was going to betrouble?"
"If he came in here and got the calves, it looks as if he meant business,all right." Kent frowned absently at the white window curtain. "I've seenthe time," he added reflectively, "when I'd be all broke up to have Man getinto trouble. We used to be pretty good friends!"
"A year ago it would have broken my heart," Val sighed. "We do change so! Ican't quite understand Why I should feel so indifferent about it now; eventhe other day it was terrible. But when I felt his fingers--" she stoppedguiltily. "He seems a stranger to me now. I don't even hate him so verymuch. I don't want to meet him, though."
"Neither do I." But there was a different meaning in Kent's tone. "Soyou're going to quit?" He looked at her thoughtfully--"You'll leave youraddress, I hope!"
"Oh, yes." Val's voice betrayed some inward trepidation. "I'm not runningaway; I'm just going."
"I see." He sighed, impatient at the restraint she had put upon him. "Thatdon't mean you won't ever come back, does it? Or that the trains are goingto quit carrying passengers to your town? Because you can't _always_ keepme outa your 'problem,' let me tell you. Is it against the rules to askwhen you're going--and how?"
"Just as soon as I can get my trunks packed, and Polycarp--orsomebody--comes to help me load them into the spring wagon. I promisedArline Hawley I would be in town to-night. I don't know, though--I don'tseem to be making much progress with my packing." She smiled at him morebrightly. "Let's wade ashore, pal, and get to work instead of talking aboutthings better left alone. I know just exactly what you're thinking--and I'mgoing to let you help me instead of Polycarp. I'm frightfully angry withhim, anyway. He promised me, on his word of honor, that he wouldn't mentiona thing--and he must have actually hunted for a chance to tell! He didn'thave the nerve to come to the house yesterday, when he was here withFred--perhaps he won't come to-day, after all. So you'll have to help memake my getaway, pal."
Kent wavered. "You're the limit, all right," he told her after a period ofhesitation. "You just wait, old girl, till you get that conscience ofyours squared! What shall I do? I can pack a war-bag in one minute andthree-quarters, and a horse in five minutes--provided he don't get gay andpitch the pack off a time or two, and somebody's around to help throw thehitch. Just tell me where to start in, and you won't be able to see me fordust!"
"You seem in a frightful hurry to have me go," Val complained, laughingnevertheless with the nervous reaction. "Packing a trunk takes time, andcare, and intelligence."
"Now isn't that awful?" Kent's eyes flared with mirth, all the morepronounced because it was entirely superficial. "Well, you take the timeand care, Mrs. Goodpacker, and I'll cheerfully furnish the intelligence,This goes, I reckon?" He squeezed a pink cushion into as small a space aspossible, and held it out at arm's length.
"That goes--to Arline. _Don't_ put it in there!" Val's laughter was not farfrom hysteria. Kent was pretending to stuff the pink cushion into her handbag.
"Better take it; you'll--"
The front door was pushed violently open and Manley almost fell into theroom. Val gave a little, inarticulate cry and shrank back against the wallbefore she could recover herself. They had for the moment forgotten Manley,and all he stood for in the way of heartbreak.
A strange-looking Manley he was, with his white face and staring, bloodshoteyes, and the cruel, animal lines around his mouth. Hardly recognizable toone who had not seen him since three or four years before, he would havebeen. He stopped short just over the threshold, and glanced suspiciouslyfrom one to the other before he came farther into the room.
"Dig up some grub, Val--in a bag, so I can carry it on horseback," hecommanded. "And a blanket--where did you put those rifle cartridges?" Hehurried across the room to where his rifle and belt hung upon the wall,just over the little, homemade bookcase. "I had a couple of boxes--whereare they?" He snatched down the rifle, took the belt, and began buckling itaround him with fumbling fingers.
Mechanically Val reached upon a higher shelf and got him the two boxes ofshells. Her eyes were fixed curiously upon his face.
"What has happened?" she asked him as he tore open a box and began pushingthe shells, one by one, into his belt.
"Fred De Garmo--he tried to arrest me--in town--I shot him dead," Heglanced furtively at Kent. "Can I take your horse, Kent? I want to getacross the river before--"
"You shot--Fred--" Val was staring at him stupidly. He whirled savagelytoward her.
"Yes, and I'd shoot any man that walked up and tried to take me. He wasa fool if he thought all he had to do was crook his finger and say 'Comealong.' It was over those calves--and I'd say you had a hand in it, if Ihadn't found that calf, and saw how you burned out the brand before youturned it loose. You might have told me--I wouldn't have--" He shifted hisgaze toward Kent. "The hell of it is, the sheriff happened to be in townfor something; he's back a couple of miles--for God's sake, move! And getthat flour and bacon, and some matches. I've got to get across the river. Ican shake 'em off, on the other side. Hurry, Val!"
She went out into the kitchen, and they heard her moving about, collectingthe things he needed.
"I'll have to take your horse, Kent." Manley turned to him with a certainwheedling tone, infinitely disgusting to the other. "Mine's all in--I rodehim down, getting this far. I've got to get across the river, and intothe hills the other side--I can dodge 'em over there. You can have myhorse--he's good as yours, anyway." He seemed to fed a slight discomfort atKent's silence. "You've always stood by me--anyway, it wasn't so muchmy fault--he came at me unawares, and says 'Man Fleetwood, you're myprisoner!' Why, the very tone of him was an insult--and I won't stand forbeing arrested--I pulled my gun and got him through the lungs--heard 'emyelling he was dead--Hurry up with that grub! I can't wait here till--"
"I ought to tell you Michael's no good for water," Kent forced himself tosay. "He's liable to turn back on you; he's scared of it."
"He won't turn back with _me_--not with old Jake Bondy at my heels!" Manleysnatched the bag of provisions from Val when she appeared, and started forthe door.
"You better leave off some of that hardware, then," Kent advisedperfunctorily. "You're liable to have to swim."
"I don't care how I get across, just so--" A panic seemed to seize himthen. Without a word of thanks or farewell he rushed out, threw himselfinto Kent's saddle without taking time to tie on his bundle of bacon andflour, or remembering the blanket he had asked for. Holding his provisionsunder his arm, his rifle in one hand, and his reins clutched in the other,he struck the spurs home and raced down the coulee toward the river. Fredand Polycarp had not troubled to put up the wir
e gate after emptying theriver field, so he had a straight run of it to the very river bank. The twostood together at the window and watched him go.
CHAPTER XXIV. RETRIBUTION
"He thought it was I burned out that, brand; did you notice what he said?"Val, as frequently happens in times of stress, spoke first of a trivialmatter, before her mind would grasp the greater issues.
"He'll never make it," said Kent, speaking involuntarily his thought."There comes old Jake Bondy, now, down the hill. Still, I dunno--if Michaeltakes to the water all right--"
"If the sheriff comes here, what shall we tell him? Shall we--"
"He won't. He's turning off, don't you see? He must have got a sight ofMan from the top of the hill. Michael's tolerably fresh, and Jake's horseisn't; that makes a big difference."
Val weakened unexpectedly, as the full meaning of it all swept through hermind.
"Oh, it's horrible!" she whispered. "Kent, what can we do?"
"Not a thing, only keep our heads, and don't give way to nerves," hehinted. "It's something out of our reach; let's not go all to pieces overit, pal."
She steadied under his calm voice.
"I'm always acting foolish just at the wrong time--but to think he could--"
"Don't think! You'll have enough of that to do, managing your own affairs.All this doesn't change a thing for you. It makes you feel bad--and forthat I could kill him, almost!" So much flashed out, and then he broughthimself in hand again. "You've still got to pack your trunks, and take thetrain home, just the same as if this hadn't happened. I didn't like theidea at first, but now I see it's the best thing you can do, for thepresent. After awhile--we'll see about it. Don't look out, if it upsetsyou, Val. You can't do any good, and you've got to save your nerves. Letpull down the shade--"
"Oh, I've got to see!" Perversely, she caught up the field glasses from thetable, drew them from their case, and, letting down the upper window sashwith a slam, focused the glasses upon the river. "He usually crosses rightat the mouth of the coulee--" She swung the glasses slowly about. "Oh,there he is--just on the bank. The river looks rather high--oh, your horsedoesn't want to go in, Kent. He whirls on his hind feet, and tried to boltwhen Manley started in--"
Kent had been watching her face jealously. "Here, let me take a look, willyou? I can tell--" She yielded reluctantly, and in a moment he had caughtthe focus.
"Tell me what you see, Kent--everything," she begged, looking anxiouslyfrom his face to the river.
"Well, old Jake is fogging along down the coulee--but he ain't to the riveryet, not by a long shot! Ah-h! Man's riding back to take a run in. That'sthe stuff--got Michael's feet wet that time, the old freak! They came neargoing clean outa sight."
"The sheriff--is he close enough--" Val began fearfully. "Oh, we're too faraway to do a thing!"
Kent kept his eyes to the glasses. "We couldn't do a thing if we were rightthere. Man's in swimming water already. Jake ain't riding in--from themotions he's ordering Man back."
"Oh, please let me look a minute! I won't get excited, Kent, and I'll tellyou everything I see--_please!_" Val's teeth were fairly chattering withexcitement, so that Kent hesitated before he gave up the glasses. But itseemed boorish to refuse. She snatched at them as he took them from hiseyes, and placed them nervously to her own.
"Oh, I see them both!" she cried, after a second or two. "The sheriff's gothis rifle in his hands--Kent, do you suppose he'd--"
"Just a bluff, pal. They all do it. What--"
Val gave a start. "Oh, he shot, Kent! I saw him take aim--it looked as ifhe pointed it straight at Manley, and the smoke--" She moved the glassesslowly, searching the river.
"Well, he'd have to be a dandy, to hit anything on the water, and with thesun in his eyes, too," Kent assured her, hardly taking his eyes from herface with its varying expression. Almost he could see what was taking placeat the river, just by watching her.
"Oh, there's Manley, away out! Why, your Michael is swimming beautifully,Kent! His head is high out of the water, and the water is churninglike--Oh, Manley's holding his rifle up over his head--he's looking backtoward shore. I wonder," she added softly, "what he's thinking about!Manley! you're my husband--and once I--"
"Draw a bead on that gazabo on shore," Kent interrupted her faint faring upof sentiment toward the man she had once loved and loved no more.
Val drew a long breath and turned the glasses reluctantly from thefugitive. "I don't see him--oh, yes! He's down beside a rock, on one knee,and he's taking a rest across the rock, and is squinting along--oh, hecan't hit him at that distance, can he, Kent? Would he dare--why, it wouldbe murder, wouldn't it? Oh-h--_he shot again_!"
Kent reached up a hand and took the glasses from her eyes with a masterfulgesture. "You let me look," he said laconically. "I'm steadier than you."
Val crept closer to him, and looked up into his face. She could readnothing there; his mouth was shut tight so that it was a stern, straightline, but that told her nothing. He always looked so when he was intentupon something, or thinking deeply. She turned her eyes toward the river,flowing smoothly across the mouth of the coulee. Between, the land laysleeping lazily in the hazy sunlight of mid-autumn. The grass was brown,the rocky outcroppings of the coulee wall yellow and gray and red--and theriver was so blue, and so quiet! Surely that sleepy coulee and that placidriver could not be witnessing a tragedy. She turned her head, irritatedby its very calmness. Her eyes dwelt wistfully upon Kent's half-concealedface.
"What are they doing now, Kent?" Her tone was hushed.
"I can't--exactly--" He mumbled absently, his mind a mile away. She waiteda moment.
"Can you see--Manley?"
This time he did not answer at all; he seemed terribly far off, as if onlyhis shell of a body remained with her in the room.
"Why don't you talk?" she wailed. She waited until she could endure nomore, then reached up and snatched the glasses from his eyes.
"I can't help it--I shall go crazy standing here. I've just got to see!"she panted.
For a moment he clung to the glasses and stared down at her. "You betternot, sweetheart," he urged gently, but when she still held fast he let themgo. She raised them hurriedly to her eyes, and turned to the river with ashrinking impatience to know the worst and have it over with.
"E-everything j-joggles so," she whimpered complainingly, trying vainlyto steady the glasses. He slipped his arms around her, and let her leanagainst him; she did not even seem to realize it. Just then she had caughtsight of something, and her intense interest steadied her so that she stoodperfectly still.
"Why, your horse--" she gasped. "Michael--he's got his feet straight up inthe air--oh, Kent, he's rolling over sad over! I can't see--" She held herbreath.
The glasses sagged as if they had grown all at once too heavy to hold."I--I thought I saw--" She shivered and hid her face upon one upflung arm.
Kent caught up the glasses and looked long at the river, unmindful of thegirl sobbing wildly beside him. Finally he turned to her, hesitated, andthen gathered her close in his arms. The glasses slid unheeded to thefloor.
"Don't cry--it's better this way, though it's hard enough, God knows." Hisvoice was very gentle. "Think how awful it would have been, Val, if thelaw had got him. Don't cry like that! Such things are happening every day,somewhere--" He realized suddenly that this was no way to comfort her, andstopped. He patted her shoulder with a sense of blank helplessness. Hecould make love--but this was not the time for love-making; and since hewas denied that outlet for his feelings, he did not know what to do, exceptthat he led her to the couch, and settled her among the cushions so thatshe would be physically comfortable, at least. He turned restlessly to thewindow, looked; out, and then went to the couch and bent over her.
"I'm going out to the gate--I want to see Jake Bondy. He's coming up thecoulee," he said. "I won't be far. Poor little girl--poor little pal, Iwish I could help you." He touched his lips to her hair, so lightly shecould not feel it, and left her.
&nb
sp; At the gate he met, not the sheriff, who was riding slowly, and had justpassed through the field gate, but Arline and Hank, rattling up in theHawley buck-board.
"Thank the good Lord!" he exclaimed when he helped her from the rig. "Inever was so glad to see anybody in my life. Go on in--she's in therecrying her heart out. Man's dead--the sheriff shot him in the river--oh,there's been hell to pay out here!"
"My heavens above!" Arline stared up at him while she grasped thesignificance of his words. "I knowed he'd hit for here--I followed rightout as quick as Hank could hitch up the team. Did you hear about Fred--"
"Yes, yes, yes, I know all about it!" Kent was guilty of pulling herthrough the gate, and then pushing her toward the house. "You go and dosomething for that poor girl. Pack her up and take her to town as quick asGod'll let you. There's been misery enough for her out here to kill a dozenwomen."
He watched until she had reached the porch, and then swung back to Hank,sitting calmly in the buckboard, with the lines gripped between his kneeswhile he filled his pipe.
"I can take care of the man's side of this business, fast enough," Kentconfessed whimsically, "but there's some things it takes a woman tohandle." He glanced again over his shoulder, gave a huge sigh of reliefwhen he glimpsed Arline's thin face as she passed the window and kneltbeside the couch, and turned with a lighter heart to meet the sheriff.